


At the Poolside

by saxophonic



Series: B.A.P Bingo Challenge 2015 [2]
Category: B.A.P
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Summer Romance, Swimming Pools, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 20:14:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4318425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saxophonic/pseuds/saxophonic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a new lifeguard at the clubhouse, and Himchan wants a piece. (Fill for "Summer Romance" B.A.P Bingo square)</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the Poolside

**Author's Note:**

> Written to fill my "Summer Romance" square for [BAP Bingo Challenge](http://bapbingochallenge.tumblr.com).

Summer jobs are supposed to be simple. Quick cash in his pocket. A reference for a job later down the line. He’s had this concession stand gig locked down for years, through high school and into college. It’s always suited him just fine, even if it makes everything he wears smell faintly of chlorine for a few months. Plus, it never interferes much with his guitar lessons or any summer music performances he indulges in from time to time.

This year is his last, and he’s going to spend it training Junhong to take over the manager role. Scary, really, but he guess his manager felt the same way four years ago. Junhong’s a good kid at heart, even if he tends to be late to things like helping open up the concession stand before the season starts to stock it.

And he’s reliable, like today, finishing inventory of their frozen treats before the pool switches from private lessons to open swim after lunch. Himchan lounges by the counter, pretending to play on his phone, though his eyes are elsewhere.

Oh no, Junhong is not the problem.

In the shallow end of the pool, the newest lifeguard stands in front of four toddlers, all equipped with arm floaties and huddled on the steps into the pool. He’s coaxing them into the water, one by one, until they’re all standing on the last step. The lifeguard grins and puts his hands on his hips. Himchan’s eyes dart over the broad chest and the narrow waist before lingering on the lifeguard’s well-defined arms. His name is Jongup, and he is quite possibly Himchan’s ideal man.

“Himchan, you’re staring again.” Junhong startles Himchan out of his focus. He sets the clipboard down on the counter, looking far more smug than acceptable.

“I’m not,” Himchan says, averting his gaze from the swim class to his phone screen. “Are you finished with the inventory?”

“Yes.” Junhong taps the clipboard. “We need more of the freeze pops.”

“They’re called freezie squeezes, Junhong.”

“You know what I mean. Those plastic tubes of flavored ice.”

Himchan pockets his phone and turns around. He leans back against the counter with his elbows. “Freezie squeezes.” He sighs before moving one hand to fish in his back pocket for his wallet. “You know how to get to the store from here?”

“Yes.” Junhong rolls his eyes. “I’m not a baby.”

Reaching into his wallet, Himchan gives Junhong enough money for two packs of treats. “Here. Bring back the change, and we’ll go over the cash register again.”

Junhong pockets the cash. He lets himself out the side door before coming around to the customer side of the counter. “Himchan,” he says, leaning in. Himchan turns around, eyebrows raised. “You’ve got drool on your chin.”

“I wasn’t staring!” Himchan swats at Junhong through the window, but Junhong’s long legs have already carried him away, cackling.

\---

Junhong’s friends often come to the concession stand to hang around and buy snacks. Himchan doesn’t mind when they stop in for a few hours. They’re a good bunch of kids, like Junhong, and they never forget to buy something.

The thing is, it turns out Jongup is Junhong’s friend, and he comes over during his breaks to play video games with Junhong sometimes, and Himchan has to admire him lounging on the deck furniture under the concession stand’s shade arbor instead of from the safe distance of the lifeguard chair.

Sometimes Jongup, smelling like coconut suntan lotion, will come up to the window to buy ice cream. So Himchan has to ask him what kind of ice cream bar he wants, and Jongup purses his lips in this irresistibly cute way that makes Himchan want to lean over and kiss him. But he doesn’t, of course. If he did, then he’d never know that Jongup wants the chocolate eclair ice cream bar, and he’d lose a sale.

Junhong always laughs at him. “I told him your name yesterday,” he says one day, when they are both behind the counter.

“Why’d you do that?” Himchan asks, looking up from filling out the payroll form to submit to the owner, Kang. He hasn’t introduced this bit of concession stand management to Junhong yet. Junhong sits on the stool and waits for Himchan to finish up, or a customer to come by. Whichever happens first.

Himchan’s question evokes a sly grin on Junhong’s face. “He asked.”

Later, Jongup comes by when Himchan’s minding the stand on his own. “Hi.” He’s deliciously half-naked in swim trunks and a whistle around his neck. Himchan would love to get a more up-close-and-personal introduction to the tanned muscles on Jongup’s torso.

He meets Jongup’s gaze and offers a smile. “Hi,” Himchan says. “Junhong’s out grabbing some lunch.”

“Oh.” Jongup’s mouth twists like he’s biting the inside corner of his lips. Himchan checks the clock on the side of the concession stand wall and scrabbles to remember when Junhong went out, anticipating Jongup’s next question. “I’m not here for Junhong.”

Himchan’s focus snaps back to Jongup, trying not to look surprised. Or desperate. “You’re not?” Jongup shakes his head. “What are you here for? I mean,” Himchan stands up a bit straighter, slipping into a work mindset despite the cute boy in front of him, “what can I get you?”

Jongup looks from the menu to Himchan and back again. He opens his mouth, and Himchan notes he visibly changes his mind as he inhales. “A chocolate eclair ice cream bar, please.”

“Coming right up.” Himchan turns to fetch the bar from the freezer, scolding himself for letting his attention slip. He works at a concession stand, not a strip club. Jongup isn’t here to buy Himchan’s lap dance. _A lap dance,_ he thinks as he closes the freezer door. _Now there’s an interesting thought._

The money’s already on the counter when Himchan gives Jongup his ice cream. “Thanks,” Jongup says, pinching his fingers at one end and tearing open the plastic. “Himchan.”

Counting the money into the register, Himchan feels stomach flip-flop and immediately feels embarrassed about it. “You’re welcome,” he says, looking over the counter, “Jongup.” Jongup grins as he tosses the wrapper in the nearby trash can. Himchan’s stomach flips again, and he lets himself check out Jongup as he leaves. He wouldn’t mind giving that muscled back a few scratch marks, preferably during a heated make-out session.

Or while he’s finding out if the butt on the back of those hips is as solid as it looks.

The chocolate eclair ice cream bar becomes Himchan’s favorite kind of ice cream bar they sell. It has nothing to do with Jongup, of course. It’s just a good choice for sweet treat on a hot day. He takes one for himself before closing up, savoring it before his guitar lessons.

\---

It’s several tortuous days before Himchan gets a chance to talk with Jongup again. He tells himself it’s only ‘tortuous’ because now the little tykes in Jongup’s swim class are learning how to flutter kick, and Jongup spends a lot of time getting in and out of the pool. He demonstrates kicking exercises on deck, the kids mimicking him to the best of their ability. Then he shows them what it looks like in the water, again.

He looks good on deck. And really good in the water. And really, really good wet on deck, flexing his legs and his abs as he goes through the kicking exercises, gently teaching the kids how to stay afloat with the kickboard.

Jongup looks good all the time. Himchan considers himself a big enough man to admit this fact to himself. He’s also big enough to admit that half the reason he comes to open the concession stand early is so he can watch the last half of the swim lessons. 

(The other half is because he’s required, as manager. He doesn’t make Junhong join him every day yet, just once a week until Junhong is comfortable with the routine. That once a week rarely coincides with a swim-lesson day. Sometimes, Himchan wants to pine in peace, thank you very much.)

One mid-afternoon after swim lessons finds Jongup, Junhong, and Junhong’s friend Kibum huddled around a table with their Game Boys out. The pool is sparsely populated for a cool, overcast weekday afternoon. The guards and Kibum are the concession stand’s only real customers. Himchan tries not to pout attractively at his phone too much, secretly hoping Jongup will look up and notice Himchan and realize Himchan’s the summer fling he’s been looking for.

It’s a futile effort, he knows, because not much will distract those three from their console screens. Still, he tries.

Jongup doesn’t buy anything that day, though Kibum’s bought them two rounds of bagged chips. As Junhong and Himchan close up the stand, Junhong drops a crumb of information that Himchan tucks away for later examination. Junhong interrupts Himchan in the middle of a lecture on proper meat grilling technique when he says, “You talk about food and cooking so much, sometimes you remind me of Jongup’s old ex.”

“His ex?” Himchan asks, voice climbing an interval despite his attempt at nonchalance.

“Yeah.” Junhong finishes wiping down the last table. He tosses the rag into the bucket and starts upturning the chairs on the tabletops. “The last time Jongup dated a boy, he was crazy about food. Even started his own food blog.”

“That’s nice,” Himchan says. His tone is a better example of mild disinterest. His mind isn’t paying attention to the bills he’s counting as he cashes out the register, body going through the motions for him. “I don’t know if I could blog about food. I just like to make it, and make people eat it.”

“I know,” Junhong says. “I mean, that was months ago. He isn’t dating anyone now.” Himchan shrugs. “I thought you’d want to know that, too.”

“How thoughtful.” Himchan starts counting the money again, this time making a concerted effort to stay on task. “So when were you going to tell me about you and Kibum, hm?”

Himchan doesn’t have to look at Junhong to know his face is flushed red. He can hear it fueling the exasperation in Junhong’s voice. “We’re not dating! Why does everyone think that?”

\---

The sun dips below the horizon, casting the closed pool in the periwinkle light of dusk. Himchan locks up the concession stand alone, bag slung over his shoulder. Junhong’s been away all week on family vacation, so Himchan hasn’t been able to delegate everything to Junhong like normal. Next week, he’ll be back, and Himchan will have more of his evenings to himself again.

There’s music playing from the clubhouse speakers, and the genre tips Himchan off it’s probably from someone’s personal music instead of the radio. At the pool, someone reels in the lane line that divides the pool between swimming shallows and diving area during open swim. Himchan knows who it is before he can see their face.

“Hey Jongup,” he says, aiming for casual and managing a good imitation.

Jongup looks over the lane line storage reel. “Hi, Himchan. You’re here late.”

“I could say the same for you.” Himchan walks around to Jongup’s side of the reel, resettling his bag. “Need any help?”

“I’ve got it. Thanks though,” Jongup says. 

The lane line is halfway reeled in, moving slower than Himchan expected. “So, is this your music?”

“Yeah.” Jongup’s arm keeps cranking. “I’m actually choreographing a dance to this one.”

“You dance?” Himchan’s shock is genuine. “I thought you lifeguard types tended to stay in your pools.”

“What, competitive swimming? Water polo?” Jongup snorts. “I like swimming well enough, but dancing is….” Jongup’s lips quirk in a smile, eyes downcast as he chuckles to himself. “It’s hard to explain. It’s fun, but it’s more than that, too.”

Himchan nods. “That’s as good a way as any to sum up how I feel about music. I play guitar.”

“Cool.”

The idea strikes Himchan with the intensity of a jolt of lightning. “Actually, I’m going to be performing at an open mic stage this weekend. You should come.” Jongup throws Himchan a look, brow furrowed with skepticism. “They’d probably love to have another dance act between guitarists like me and amateur poetry.”

“Another?”

“Yeah, there’s a small ballet group, and then one,” Himchan searches for the delicate phrase, “avant-garde solo performer.”

Jongup laughs. “There’s always one.” The lane line dangles, ready to be tucked in the reel. “It sounds fun. I don’t know if an open mic is a welcoming place for a hip-hop dance group, though.” He attaches it before he starts pushing it across the pool deck, headed toward the wall. Himchan moves to help him keep it in the right direction. “I’d like to check it out, though. Maybe we’ll perform in the future.”

“Yeah, definitely. And you could watch me perform. I always appreciate a good cheering section.”

The words take Himchan by surprise, but Jongup’s head tilts to one side as he thinks. They steady the wheel near the pool clubhouse wall. “Alright,” Jongup says, nodding.

“Alright. You should probably give me your number,” Himchan says, “So we can coordinate.”

Jongup looks Himchan in the eye and grins. “I’d like that.” 

Himchan’s kneecaps threaten to melt, but manage to keep him upright as they exchange information. He even makes it to his car in one piece. He turns his car on, cranks up the music, and lets his good mood soar him home.

\---

Settling on the stool, Himchan adjusts the mics to catch the sound from his guitar and the sound of his voice. He looks past the stage lights to the crowd spilling across the park field, on blankets and lawn chairs. It’s a favorable audience even if Moon Jongup wasn’t sitting on Himchan’s blanket, tucked somewhere amidst the shades of bodies waiting for Himchan’s set. 

The fact his crush of the summer sits waiting to hear him perform doesn’t make him nervous. He’s calm, maybe a touch excited. This is his element, after all.

He takes a deep breath, letting his eyes fall closed, and starts to play.

First up is his own arrangement of a pop song, something he’s been practicing recently after having heard it on the radio. It’s upbeat and catchy, and when he starts to sing, he can’t resist grinning all the while. Himchan lets himself groove, bobbing his head and winking playfully at the kids dancing in a circle off to the side of the stage. His fingers catch a wrong note here and there, but he lets his fingers dress up each mistake into an improvisational flourish.

By the time he’s launching into the final chorus, most of the crowd has joined him in song or by clapping along. They applaud him after the last note, and Himchan feels the the anticipation for his next song. It’s one of his original compositions, a similar feel as the pop song, but without the widely-known lyrics. When he plays the section, riffing on a folk song, he feels the crowd’s attention back in his favor and extends the section impromptu.

He finishes the second song to strong applause. Not as strong as the first, but for an original song, he’s happy with the crowd’s response.

When the last of the clapping dies away, he takes few deep breaths before strumming the opening chords of his third and final song: a ballad. The hush over the crowd as he draws notes from his guitar has a weight that makes the air feel thicker than it really is. Himchan licks his lips and begins to sing.

Ballads are the hardest for Himchan, but he performs them anyway. His old chorus director would often tell him his voice is too rough to be sweet enough, but Himchan disagrees. It isn’t about the roughness where an audience expects a mellow voice, rather the emotion the performer can evoke in their audience. 

Himchan rides the tide of feeling from his heart, projecting what he can to the crowd. Hope lifts his voice high with a touch of vibrato. The intimate agony of having a crush lets his voice waver as it drops to the lower notes. His hands strum as his fingers press the right chords into the guitar neck. Every stolen look, every moment spent pining, every delightful smile, all these things Himchan synthesizes with his music and hopes the audience finds it pleasing.

He finishes, last notes hanging in the air. Himchan can feel the audience holding its breath before the applause begins, and he eases off one side of the stool to accept their feedback. “Thank you!” he says into the mic and bowing. He thanks the audience again before clearing the stage for the next performer.

Back on his blanket, Himchan settles his guitar case down before sitting beside Jongup. “You were amazing,” Jongup says, and Himchan blushes all the way down to his toes.

“Thanks. It means a lot to me, coming from you.”

They sit there, staring at each other. Jongup’s gaze trails down to Himchan’s lips and back up again, so slow that Himchan can’t convince himself he imagined it. Himchan leans in…

Feedback from the speakers blasts through the crowd at full volume, jarring Himchan and Jongup apart. “Sorry,” the next act says. “Sorry about that everyone! But now that we have your attention, let’s go!” The crowd laughs and the kid on drumset counts off the garage band’s first song.

Himchan spends the rest of the night feeling like he missed his only chance to turn this into a real date. They finish the snacks they brought with them, and when the performances end, he and Jongup work together to pack up their spot. Himchan ends up carrying only his guitar as they walk back to his car, Jongup insisting he play the part of roadie.

“I had fun tonight,” Jongup says with such an air of finality Himchan’s heart plummets.

“Good.” Himchan unlocks his car and pops open the trunk. “I hope you decide to come back. There’s another one next month. You saw for yourself, we could really use a good hip-hop dance performance.”

Jongup laughs, setting the cooler and the blanket in the car. “I saw, I saw. I think we’ll definitely consider it.” Himchan closes the trunk once Jongup’s limbs are clear. “I want to come back.”

Himchan fits his guitar in the back seat of his car as Jongup takes the front. “I hope you do! Then I can be in your cheering section, next time around.”

The drive to Jongup’s place goes by fast. Himchan learns more about Jongup, how he started dancing, how he became part of this group. Listening to Jongup speak so much and with such passion melts the ice around his mood after missing the chance for a kiss. He smiles, laughing at himself internally. Neither of them ever said this was a date. He should just appreciate time spent with Jongup without any expectations and nurse his crushed heart when he’s alone.

Himchan pulls up to the curb, putting the car in park but leaving the engine running. “I really had fun tonight,” Jongup says. He unbuckles his seatbelt. “Thank you for inviting me out.”

“Of course,” Himchan says, smiling. “It was nice to get to know you better, outside of the pool.”

Jongup nods, smiling back. And then they’re kissing, Jongup leaning in and Himchan following on instinct, eyes falling closed. Jongup’s lips are soft and yielding. It’s a pleasant contrast to the bit of stubble on Jongup’s chin that he missed while shaving. He kisses with an irresistible shyness that Himchan wants to swim in for a few hours.

They break apart, and Himchan’s grin spreads so wide that his cheeks hurt. He’s pleased to see Jongup looks as giddy as Himchan feels. “Text me in the morning,” Jongup says, opening the door.

“I plan on it!” Himchan calls after him, and Jongup laughs. They meet each other’s eyes through the car window, Himchan’s gaze lingering on the bottom lip caught between Jongup’s teeth. He wants to bite that lip next time.

 _And there will be a next time,_ he realizes, watching Jongup until he’s safely in his building. He gives himself a few seconds to bounce with joy in his seat before starting the drive home.


End file.
